


Sensitive

by torrential



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrential/pseuds/torrential
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is sensitive. Foggy takes shameless advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensitive

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=8412821#cmt8412821) prompt on the Daredevil Kink Meme.

He pushes in, inch by slick hot inch, and Matt groans in utter bliss. He can _feel_ Foggy's pulse in his cock against his inner walls, testament to just how much Foggy is enjoying this too. Each beat is a little nudge all on its own and his nerves sing in time. Matt is, in fact, certain that Foggy could push him into coming with the force of his heartbeat alone.

" _Fuck_ , Matt, your ass is a gift from God."

"Language," Matt gasps automatically, the end of the word hitching as Foggy shifts minutely inside of him. Every little movement is magnified by his senses. Squish and slide of lube, mingling on his palate with sweat and precome and the tropical-fruit smell of Foggy's body wash. The whorls and arches of Foggy's fingerprints where he clenches his pressed-back thighs, the coarse pubic hairs against his ass. All of it is good, all of it is Foggy and he drinks in the sensory map of him. It's almost better than the cock swollen and hard in his ass. Almost.

"I don't care," Foggy tells him. "I will gladly go to Hell to worship at your altar."

"Worship harder," Matt says, bearing down on him meaningfully. Foggy gasps and even that feels good, disturbed air currents swirling over his electrified skin. God, he doesn't know what it is about the man that leaves him trembling and at the mercy of the slightest touch. If this persisted in the rest of his life, his clothes would get him off just walking down the street. Maybe if they were Foggy's clothes... he moans, guttural and wrecked.

Before Foggy, Matt liked sex well enough. He found orgasms pleasant, and worth putting up with the sticky, slippery interaction with other people, their skin on his, their odor in his nostrils and lingering on his hands for days after. Now, however -- it's all part of the appeal. The throb, the noises. Foggy's musk in his bedroom and on his body even after he showers.

(He doesn't try very hard, to strip himself of Foggy's presence.)

"You want it so bad, Matt." Foggy's voice is wondering, no matter how many times they do this. He brushes a calloused thumb over one peaked nipple, wringing a whine from Matt and unknowingly daubing it further with his scent. The oils from Foggy's skin have mingled with his but even so, Matt can trace the exact path his hands have taken over his body from the trails they've left behind. They'll linger for days, an invisible claim to his body he can wear out in public. "You want _me_ so bad."

And then Matt hears the amazement transform into heated playfulness and gulps. Oh no. Foggy's going to play it that way--

"Let's see how bad."

Matt can't help the whimper. It's a game they play sometimes: more than once Foggy's told him how hot Matt's enhanced sensitivity makes him, that sometimes all Foggy has to do is _whisper_ across his cock or quivering hole and Matt's traitorous, wonderful body takes that and crashes it through his brain like the best drug, leaves him on the knife-edge of release after only a few gentle touches. Foggy can play him like a goddamned violin and it's gloriously excruciating when he decides to see just how subtle he can go. Because sometimes he wants to take advantage of that sensitivity, work Matt into a quivering mess with as little movement as possible. It's the worst thing and the best thing, forcing Matt to focus on his own reactions even further to eke out every last bit of pleasure from the smallest of twitches, making everything that much more intense. How Foggy resists chasing his own pleasure Matt has no idea, waiting patiently for Matt to devolve into an incoherent puddle before doing anything to oblige himself.

He doesn't have _objections_ to what Foggy's planned but still, he's got to try. "Foggy, I c-can't--"

"Yes you can, Matt. You just need something to get you started." Foggy draws his hips back a few inches, rolls on the thrust back in, and Matt's eyes roll up as the bulbous head of his cock runs right over his prostate. He thinks he can feel more precome smearing inside of him, a different consistency than the lube and instinctively clenches down, trying to draw Foggy deeper into him, to grind against the hard length and rub all those spots inside where he needs it most. Foggy chuckles, husky and low, running his thumbs over the backs of his shaking, sweaty thighs.

"Already gagging for it? Patience, virtue, you know how it goes."

He pulls out just as slowly as he pushed in -- no, _slower_. By the return trip, Matt's already babbling. "Foggy, no, please, faster, _faster_ , I -- ah -- I can't--" The syllables are broken upon desperation and sheer _want_. Foggy actually swells further in him in reaction and he wiggles haplessly, feeling the stretch of his hole keenly around his pulsing cock. "Please, please, oh _god_ \--"

To no avail; these are always drawn-out affairs. Foggy seems to want to bring him as close to climax as possible, splitting hairs-width distances to edge him closer and closer for as long as he can. Force every last drop of pleasure from Matt before culminating in the grande finale. Only the glacier-slow pace makes it possible, tipping Matt toward release without inadvertently pushing him over. Even so, he writhes and begs shamelessly, lost in the most minor of sensations until even the barest twitch of Foggy against him is enough to sweep him away.

When he comes, it's not so much as a push as a _shove_. Foggy chooses his moment well. Matt is stretched to the breaking point, shivering and aching and almost senseless with need, Foggy barely still within him. So close, so close, so goddamned close -- and Foggy snaps his hips forward in one brutal thrust.

Focusing as hard as he is, orgasm takes him like a lightning strike, all the more powerful for being unexpected. Matt screams as he shatters. Come spatters between them, his own scent intensifying in the air but a minute detail among a thousand others in the face of his release. Above him, Foggy grunts as Matt convulses around him and he feels that in his body as well.

And now, _now_ , when Matt's senses have kicked into overdrive and he's barely even through his climax, Foggy starts to really move. Takes full advantage of his oversensitized body and thrusts in, tip to root, with a meaty smack against his ass. Matt chokes, hips jolting up to meet him. He couldn't help himself if he tried.

Foggy bottoms out again and again, strong movements of his hips and thighs powering Matt through the afterglow. Though that's a misnomer; this is no glow but a burn, taking his body and searing him away until there's nothing but himself and Foggy against him, in him. The sway of his hair with his movements, the excitement rising off his skin in an intoxicating fog, the muscles he can feel quivering with every pump of his hips.

It doesn't take long before Foggy is about to come. Matt can feel him tightening against him, balls drawing up in preparation. His thrusts start to stutter in rhythm as he chases his release and Matt arches deliberately, opening himself up to it, wanting it all. Craving the sensation as bad as any junkie. Foggy doesn't disappoint: one-two-three and he's coming deep in Matt's ass, hot spurts that nevertheless almost feel cool in comparison to the heat of their bodies. Matt jerks with each spurt against his inner walls, the final touch upon the mess of debauchery to which he's been rendered down.

No, not the final touch. Foggy's movements slow before he drops Matt's legs and collapses breathlessly upon him, the warm solidity of his form helping to ease Matt back into his own body like the comfort of a pressure blanket. Calming breaths soothe and ground him, slowly drawing his senses back to a normal kilter and not where every tiny shift of Foggy's softening cock still in him is enough to leave him breathless.

"You okay?" Foggy asks after a moment, one hand creeping up to stroke the side of Matt's face. Matt nuzzles his fingers, scented with their surroundings but mostly with himself and Matt mingled. Places a kiss to the pads to taste the same, heavy and bitter and musky before shamelessly nudging against Foggy's hand for more petting. Foggy laughs, sated and happy, and obliges. "I'll take that to mean I'm getting a good Yelp review."

"Mm- _hm_ ," Matt sighs, even that almost beyond his capabilities for the moment. "I hate your ideas and I love your ideas."

Foggy laughs again even as he cranes his neck up to kiss him. "Well, when you're up for it, let's see what you think of my next one." He leans up further to whisper in his ear. "Two words: _cock ring_."

Matt's eyes grow wide.


End file.
